


It's a Deal

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Copious Cockles [6]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Based on Real Events, Comfort, Friendship/Love, Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, Massage, POV Misha, Protective Jensen, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:24:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4632027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misha already feels spoiled- the life he gets to live, his family, his friends ... they are all more than he could have ever wished for; but some people still insist on pampering him when his birthday rolls around ... some people like Jensen Ackles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Deal

            Jensen Ackles … _that adorable fuckhead_. Misha could see right through him—attempting to hide his little surprise by bringing other people along; trying to make all this seem like just “a work thing.”

            “Let’s get lunch and discuss the new script” Jensen had said, pulling Misha by the arm and quickly shoving him into the car. If he wasn’t such a laid back guy, he might have been nervous about the obvious ploy, but—it was _Jensen_ after all, and being that it was also his birthday, Misha had hoped the pranks would be put on hold.

            So, they all buckled up to go … _somewhere_ —Jensen, Misha and a couple others from the set that had met up with them while they were out on their vacation; all making small talk like it was just any other Thursday. And if Misha could have it his way _, it would be_ like any other Thursday—but the ones he loves always want to make a fuss over him … _it’s not necessary at all_ —he wishes they would see that. But every year they refuse to; which is why when the car pulled up outside of a Houston’s, Misha chuckled softly to himself, knowing that an expensive meal was awaiting him. It is also one of Jensen’s favorite restaurants. They went there often—just the two of them, and every time, Jensen ordered the same prime rib, _rare,_ with sautéed vegetables accompanied by a pricey glass of red. Misha usually was the more adventurous one—always asking what the chef was experimenting with and never getting the same thing twice. Each dinner they had inside that low-lit restaurant always ended with both being slightly buzzed and nothing but smiles by the time they walked out the door—and _Misha_ , talking about how much he loved the place. Jensen must have taken that to mean that he loved _the food_ …

            The lunch menu was shorter than what they were used to; and it didn’t have Jensen’s prime rib … which was then the cause of the most adorable pout to ever grace those pouty lips. Misha managed to save the day however, pointing to the prime rib sandwich that was on the last page—a ramekin of au jus came with it on the side. Contentment surrounded his friend once more and Misha grinned happily—causing Jensen to ask if he was having a good time. Misha nodded, telling him again how much he enjoyed this place—leaving out the fact that the noon-day sun lit it all differently, casting beautiful shadows across Jensen’s face. Instead, he just said that he might even like it more at lunchtime. That made Jensen happy, obviously giving him some sort of confirmation that the plan he had put in place was in fact running smoothly. They ate and they spoke some more—about work, about family and about life in general. With each laugh that escaped Misha’s throat, Jensen seemed to glow a little more—looking like a child who just saw their bouquet of weeds get put into a vase like the most prized of roses.

            After they ate, Misha had silently hoped that that would be it—Jensen _did_ tell the chef it was his birthday, so a beautiful fruit and ice cream plate was brought out to him. Then everyone wished him a happy birthday while he ate and they all finished their drinks. That would have been _more than_ enough, but of course, Jensen had other plans. They piled into the car once again and headed in the exact _opposite_ direction of his condo, moving towards the other end of downtown, and then just beyond it—where the land stretched out into the horizon, and the clouds curved into shades of pink. It was a beautiful day, and Misha would have been content just looking at that sky until it filled with stars, but that apparently wasn’t on the agenda either, because soon, they were pulling into a long, twisting driveway, eventually coming to a stop outside of a lovely, modern looking building—pristine water displays coming down from every wall.

            “What is this place?” Misha asked, his heart pounding a little harder in his chest because it just _felt_ like someplace he wouldn’t normally go.

            Jensen walked around the other side of the car, pulling Misha out and away from the ears of the others—over near the left side of the building where the low trickle of the water dampened their voices. Strong fingers were still on Misha’s wrist when Jensen leaned into him, whispering low and soft—holding his eyes with his own. “I wanted to take you somewhere where you could really relax. Not just a quiet place away from work and the kids, but … someplace, _ya know_ …” Jensen trailed off, suddenly turning very red and dropping his eyes to the ground. His hand left Misha’s skin and soon found a new home in the pocket of his slacks—as if Misha turned breakable within a blink of an eye, “someplace where you could be taken care of.”

            Misha watched the man closely, feeling his smile bloom into a full-blown grin. _Jesus fucking Christ,_ Jensen was adorable, and even more so because he didn’t know it. With a reluctant push, Misha managed to tear his eyes away from his considerate co-star just long enough to take a second look at the immaculate building, _understanding_ starting to sink in with the mist from the water displays. “So … you brought me to a spa?” Misha asked, chuckling around his words.

            Jensen could only shrug and blush harder.

            With a peek over the shy-man’s shoulder, Misha saw that the others were busying themselves in quiet conversation, giving them both their privacy with turned backs and hushed voices. He silently thanked them before leaning in to kiss Jensen’s cheek—feeling the man’s skin burn beneath his lips. “Thank you. This is really thoughtful of you ... and _more than_ was needed. That lunch was gift enough.”

            Jensen’s head snapped up—his face twisting in offense. “You _really_ need to get it through your head, Mish … there will _never_ be enough for you.”

            He thinks his mouth was hanging open by the time Jensen’s words had settled into his brain, but he couldn’t be sure—because the need to kiss the man’s lips overtook everything else. Misha cupped his palms across Jensen’s cheeks and pulled him in, wondering yet again how he ever got so lucky to deserve this— _this friend_ … this kind, generous man who would never know how special he is to the world. Misha pulled back after they both lost their breath—his eyes still closed while reaching out to wrap Jensen in a hug. He held him tightly, letting his lips brush his ear while soaking up the feeling of strong arms curling around him. “ _You_ will always be enough for me” he finally whispered, the truth in his words wracking through him so strongly, it made his knees weak. But as always, Jensen was right there—holding him up, holding him steady. “If anyone needs to get _anything_ through their head, _you_ need to get _that_.”

            And that is how Misha found himself here, standing in front of a pristine marble and glass desk—watching while Jensen, _manly-man_ Ackles checks them into the spa … saying things like “rejuvenation wraps” and “salt soaks” without even cracking a smile. It’s hilarious to Misha how Jensen can shy away from certain situations because he feels them to be emasculating, but other things that society would normally cringe at the man won’t even flinch. It is yet _another_ reason why Misha is in a constant state of awe around him. The guy is one hundred percent, truly and wholly _himself_. In his shyness, in his pride, in his view of the world … Jensen knows who he is, whereas Misha feels like he is always running from place to place, just trying to pick up all his missing pieces. But being around Jensen, touching him— _holding him_ … it’s as close to whole as he’s ever felt beyond Vicki and the kids, and he’s never quite sure what to do accept hold on with all his might for as long as he can.

            “Alright, Mish. All set to go … you ready?” Jensen says, gesturing towards the long, white hallway leading further into the spa.

            He takes a quick moment to look back to their friends who came with them, wondering if they were tagging along for this part as well, but one was at the other end of the desk talking to another receptionist, and the other was on his phone—if they _were_ going into the spa, they were doing so separately from Jensen and himself. A small smile curls onto Misha’s lips as he realizes Jensen basically got them a couples-package. “Yep, _can’t wait.”_

 

***

 

            His skin is soft—nearly raw from all the scrubs and soaks and wraps that it has endured throughout the last three hours. His muscles feel like putty and even lifting his head is too daunting of a task, so Misha doesn’t even bother when he hears the door to his small room open up and then close again a moment later.

            “You’ll have to excuse me if I fall asleep during this. I think this place is putting me into a coma” Misha says to the masseuse who is seemingly behind the table he is laying face-down upon.

            “Wouldn’t be the first time you fell asleep on me, old man”

            Adrenaline and shock shoots through his body, giving his muscles one last kick—allowing Misha to pop up and whip around—coming face to face with Jensen as the man slips out of the robe he’s been wearing. “What are you doing in here?” Misha asks with a breathy laugh. “Did you really book a couples massage too?”

            “We would need a second table if that was the case” Jensen chuckles, glancing about the room. Misha looks around too—even though _he knows_ that there is no second table for Jensen, so _obviously_ … that’s not why he’s in here.

            “So … then …” Misha asks leadingly—the hairs on the back of his neck starting to rise as anticipation and hope trickle over his skin.

            “ _So_ … my name is Jensen, I will be giving you a massage today.” Jensen holds out his hand, smirking slightly as he creases his eyes into slits.

            Misha rolls his, laughing as he grabs his friend’s wrist and pulls him in between his legs, dangling over the side of the table. “You couldn’t find a place that _provided_ happy endings, so you decided that you would just give me one instead?”

            Jensen leans in—dragging his tongue across Misha’s bottom lip. “You caught me, old man.”

            A soft growl rumbles up Misha’s throat as he breathes Jensen in, letting his hands travel around and up to his broad bare shoulders—only just noticing that the man is in nothing but his boxers now that his robe is off. “You keep up all this _old man_ stuff and I’m just going to have to start acting like one” Misha chides, nipping at Jensen’s chin.

            “Oh, isn’t that what you’ve been doing already?”

            Misha pulls back, eyeing Jensen coolly. A yelp fills the room as he hops down and whips Jensen around, pressing his friend’s back into the massage table. “ _This_ old man is going to have to teach you some manners!”

            Jensen laughs between gasps and moans, finally pushing Misha off of him. “Hey! Okay … okay. _You win!_ You’re the older, stronger alpha male and all that jazz.” He pulls himself back up—skin flushed and splotched from all the excitement, and Misha resists the urge to shove Jensen down again and kiss him all over. “Now, _come on_ … I was serious when I said I was going to give you a massage.” Jensen finally hops off the padded surface and moves Misha back to its edge. “Now, assume the position and let me help you relax.”

            “Which position would that be? _I know many_ …”

            Jensen blushes more as he rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, _easy there Casanova_ … you know what I mean. Lay back how you were when I first came in here.”

            “Well … I’m not _usually_ the bottom, but okay. You’re calling the shots” Misha hums, crawling back on top of the table and settling once more on his stomach. He listens to Jensen groan and he can’t help but smile. Wriggling beneath the man’s skin is _literally_ Misha’s favorite thing to do— _there is nothing more satisfying._

            “Yeah, yeah … I’m calling the shots so, _head down_!” Jensen commands, pushing Misha’s face back into the hole of the headrest. “And don’t fidget … it’s hard to make someone relax if they’re movin’ all around.”

            Misha stares at the dark tiled floor underneath him and tries to breathe deeply, willing down the erection he’s had ever since Jensen came in. “Well … it’s not really easy to lay like this when I got a _kickstand_ propping me up.”

            “Hey, that’s your _own_ fault. I didn’t ask you to get all frisky. Did you pop a Viagra or something?”

            “ _You’re_ my Viagra” Misha grumbles, feeling his pent up lust burn in his gut.       

            “ _Aww_ , Dimitri. You’re such a romantic.”

            He listens to the sound of a bottle clicking open—a noise that does _nothing_ to ease his excitement—even though Misha knows it’s just the massage oil, he can’t help but remember all the other happy memories that sound has led up to. “Ah, yes—I speaking the romance _very well_ ” he eventually slips out, letting that favored, familiar accent swim in his head.

            Jensen groans again, finally laying soft hands onto Misha’s bare back. “ _Don’t you dare_ … I am trying to do _you_ a favor right now, man. So shut up and relax!”

            He would say something—come back with yet _another_ witty remark, but Jensen’s thumbs begin to push into his spine and his muscles start to melt again. “ _Mmmmm_ ” Misha hums, eyes fluttering closed as he clamps his lips shut, trying to stave off the drool.

            “That good?” Jensen asks—fingers working circles down Misha’s sides.

            A muffled groan pushes from his mouth—the best attempt at a response he can muster right now.

            “I will take that as a _yes_ ” Jensen laughs, shuffling around to prop his knee up on the table. Soon, he’s lifting himself up and over—eventually straddling Misha like a half dead horse. “Now … _think about those toes_.”

            “ _My line_ ” Misha slurs, knowing that he’s usually the one rubbing Jensen down, telling _him_ to relax—telling _him_ to think about anything else other than the stresses of the day. It would probably be seen as him catering to all of Jensen’s needs, but deep down, he knows that it’s really just for himself—a reason to touch every part of his friend’s body. A way to shape him, _move him_ … make him completely his own. It’s about the only time Misha is ever truly selfish.

            “Yeah, well, I learned it from the best” Jensen whispers—his voice, far softer than it was—filled with something sweet and fond that makes Misha tense again.

            But not for long, because Jensen didn’t slack on this—instead, taking the better part of an hour to rub Misha down. Every finger and toe was attended to; and after a quick wash of his hands, Jensen even massaged Misha’s scalp, flipping the man over so he could move down to his ears and neck. It is the _best_ massage he’s ever received and it’s not even over yet. Misha’s mind is hovering in between the bliss of the this moment and the bliss of sleep—prickling tingles pushing against his insides and making him feel like he’s barely even real. It’s all too much. It’s all _so intense_ that he thinks he might just need to float out of himself for a little while—but just as he considers it, Jensen slides his hands down his chest, finally letting them disappear beneath Misha’s briefs. Yet, the excited jolt he would normally feel is now sated beneath the humming electricity coursing through him—evening out the pleasure so it coats his body like snow coats the earth. He’s barely aware of where Jensen actually is—unable to open his eyes enough to really take in his surroundings; so instead, Misha just feels and listens to the man’s breath, the steady slip of his skin upon his own, the deep, thorough smell that wisps around him with each step he takes—it’s all relaxing him more than anything ever has.

            Jensen then takes Misha into his hands, stroking him slowly— working in his overwhelming contentment, finally letting words slip past his lips after the first, mindless moan escapes the others. “You probably don’t think you deserve all this attention” Jensen begins, speaking just low enough that Misha thinks he just might be dreaming. “But I want you to know, _you do_ … I wanted to show you.” He moves his hand more quickly now, sliding his fingers over Misha’s tip a few times, making the man’s heart pound so hard, he’s practically jumping off the table. “I wanted to show you how much _I_ believe you deserve this. I want to show you just how happy I am that you’re around … that I get to know you, and to be part of your life.”

            A strangled gasp works up Misha’s throat but he chokes it back—trying to keep it from coming out.

            “You actually _change the world_ … you realize that, right?” Misha listens to Jensen spit out a laugh, as if he’s in shock over the words he’s saying; and Misha hopes that he is, because _he_ can’t even begin to fathom them himself. Jensen moves on with the touch of his hand. “Other people will do wonderful things and help out where they can, but you _change_ things. You really make a difference and you don’t even stop to let that sink in … you just _keep going_ , keep working, keep on changing the world like it’s as easy as breathing.”

            If he could, Misha would laugh now too—because breathing seems like the _hardest_ thing in the world at the moment. An impossible feat as his body mounts upon itself, pleasure on top of pleasure, _feeling_ on top of _want_. All of it crushing his chest and forcing out the air.

            “I really didn’t think people like you existed—” Jensen’s voice cuts off, and Misha tries to focus on him, tries to decipher what the man is feeling so maybe he can help, but Jensen’s hands have rendered him helpless— _utterly useless_ to do anything beyond just lie here. His friend coughs, pulling Misha’s attention back as Jensen clears his throat, all while continuing to pull him closer to the edge. “When I found out you did …” lips are soon ghosting over Misha’s cheek, landing lightly upon his lips—the next words dropping down gracefully into his open mouth “I couldn’t help how quickly I fell for you.”

            _The dam broke_ , and Misha shook so hard, he swore the walls should be falling down around them. But they remained intact, judging by the lack of chaos happening anywhere but in his head. It’s a strange thing indeed, feeling so tightly pinned while also feeling so fluid, nothing could ever contain you; but that’s how Misha feels—rock solid as a water fall, and Jensen made him that way.

            By the time he is actually able to open his eyes again, he’s unsure of how much time had passed, or if he actually had fallen asleep, because a towel is now draped across his lap and a _heavy Jensen_ is clinging to his side, lying next to him on the too small table. Misha is still a puddle, unable to lift his arms in order to reach out and touch his friend—because that’s all he _wants_ to do—stroke his cheek and pull him closer, even though they are already as close as they could possibly be. But he still wants more— _needs_ more, since Jensen seemed so intent on giving, _Misha finally wants to take_.

            “So … was that alright?” Jensen asks—his mouth pressed lightly into Misha’s neck.

            “Yes … _more than_ ” Misha croaks out, wondering when his voice went away.

            Jensen chuckles, nuzzling his nose into the soft hair behind Misha’s ear. “ _Good_. I wanted this to be a nice birthday for you … _ya know,_ since you might not have many left, you old man.”

            With that, Misha finds a little bit of strength, grasping on to the fleeting tendrils just before they slip from his reach. He heaves himself over, turning with a huff to face Jensen, flinging a limp arm across the man’s side to hopefully keep them both from falling off the table. He’s then nudging his head forward, bringing him nose to nose with his friend, drinking in his sweet breath and drowning in that smell that’s all his own. “Jensen … there aren’t words to describe what this birthday has been” Misha whispers, leaning in close to brush their lips together “but if you promise to stick around, then I’ll promise to keep on having them.”

            Jensen grins wide, his entire face lighting up and making the small room glow like the beautiful sky that’s stretching above their heads, only shining brighter with every breath he takes.  “It’s a deal.”

 


End file.
